No Remorse, page 20
Calbach turned to glance over his shoulder, then grimaced. “Yep. She’s bad news, that one. The name’s Mariel Lazarre. She works for the Scandia Security Intelligence Agency, which is full of bad news. Scurrilous folks might even accuse the SSIA of being in the People’s Alliance’s pocket.”
“What’s Lazarre doing here?”
“You mean here in the Shield Wall or here in Kollsvik?”
“Both.”
“Lazarre’s based out of the agency’s Kollsvik office. We see her a lot at the central police station, hobnobbing with the brass. She’s a liaison officer, but I always get a weird vibe from her, something that doesn’t fit.”
“What kind of weird vibe?”
Calbach looked up at Zack. “The kind I’ve sensed from a few of the worst murderers I’ve arrested. What’s your interest?”
“I ran across Lazarre on my way up from Hamar. Like you, I picked up a strange aura. I’m surprised to see her in a pub frequented by us uniformed types.”
“She has friends — read informants — in the police and Guard, and I daresay in your outfit as well, Niels. This is a good place to meet without being obvious. Everyone’s used to seeing Lazarre from time to time. Heck, a few wouldn’t mind getting to know her better.”
Gulliksen snorted. “People with a death wish. And just for the record, if I hear any of my soldiers gave her the time of day, they’re spending the next six months on guard duty at the ATC. She may be able to flash a warrant card at your lot or the guardsmen, Lars, but federal troops are out of bounds to her sort.”
The detective drained his beer glass and placed it on the table. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find Lazarre’s keeping a close eye on the investigation into your daughter’s disappearance, Zack. It’s a case that would fascinate her agency. She could be responsible for shutting you out. The SSIA doesn’t like to share with offworlders.”
Decker watched Lazarre join a round-faced man wearing well-tailored civilian clothes at the long, brass bar. “Why would an SSIA agent take a slow river transport like Munin to travel from Hamar to Kollsvik instead of the regular shuttle?”
“Is that where you met her?” Gulliksen asked.
“Yeah. I wanted to take in the sights.”
Calbach’s chuckle seemed almost macabre. “Why would Mariel Lazarre slum aboard Munin? Not a clue. Did you count how many passengers stepped off compared to how many came aboard? Hear any suspicious splashes in the middle of the night?”
The Marine raised a questioning eyebrow. “Is the SSIA in the hit job business?”
“I think they might prefer the term cleanup business, but I’m not about to ask.” Calbach climbed to his feet. “I’ll give Niels a call tomorrow, but don’t hold your breath. Especially if Lazarre and company are interested in the case. A pleasure to meet you, Zack. Enjoy the rest of your evening, gentlemen.”
Gulliksen glanced at Decker. “Want to go grab a bite at the Ice Dragon?”
“Is the food there still good?”
“Better.”
“I’m in.”
As he was following Gulliksen out into the night, Decker felt eyes on his back. He instinctively knew whose they were without having to turn and look. Mariel Lazarre had identified him as the professional who traveled aboard Munin as Harry Devine.
And she would soon find out he was really Major Zack Decker, Commonwealth Marine Corps. How long after that until she discovered he was not only a Naval Intelligence officer but also on the Sécurité Spéciale’s hit list would depend on whether the SSIA was in bed with the SecGen’s thugs.
**
“Wow. That is seriously impressive.” Garrett Montero stepped out of Phoenix’s shadow, eyes on the massive ice sheet’s leading edge sparkling in the early morning sunshine. It seemed almost close enough to touch. He unconsciously sank deeper into his jacket when a gust of cold air flowing off the glacier tugged at his hair.
“Zack says standing on top of it and looking down is even more impressive.” Talyn’s eyes shifted to a pair of soldiers in white, cold weather battledress, emerging from one of the structures abutting the landing strip.
“No doubt, but it’s not something I’m overly keen to experience. Knowing the Army, they’d probably make me climb up on foot instead of offering a ride in a warm, comfortable thopter. Anyone who thinks arctic combat training is fun has to own a twisted sense of humor.”
“You can always ask.” She nodded at the approaching men. “I think that’s our welcoming party. If you’re ready, hand control over to the AI and close her up.”
The taller of the two, a jovial-looking major with a flowing mustache, tossed off a salute when he and the sergeant major at his side reached Phoenix.
“I’m Henning Bruhns, the Arctic Training Center’s commanding officer, and this is Torsten Ellingboe, my top kick. Welcome. Regimental HQ warned us you would need a way to reach Hamar incognito. Sergeant Major Ellingboe has set everything up. You can leave at your convenience.”
Talyn and Montero, both still wearing faces that weren’t their own, glanced at each other, understanding this was Decker’s doing. It meant he’d reached the Scandia Regiment without problems and obtained at least partial cooperation from its colonel.
“That’s very kind of you,” Talyn replied. “Please excuse me if my first officer and I withhold our names for now. Operational security.”
“Understood. If your transponder code is enough identification for the 63rd Battle Group’s flagship, we need nothing else. Besides, HQ also advised us you were traveling under JSOC orders and working with the JSOC liaison officer currently at Fort Hardrada. Does your ship need anything?”
She shook her head. “No. We’ve secured her and left the AI to stand watch. It’ll make sure no one tampers with Phoenix and will deploy defensive ordnance if necessary. As a result, I would suggest advising your people to keep away.”
“Of course. How long will you be gone?”
“Hopefully no more than a week.”
“Will you need transportation back to the ATC when you’ve completed your mission in Hamar?”
“No. We’ll find our own way, or arrange for our liaison officer to help us.”
Bruhns nodded toward the buildings. “Shall we?”
“Please. And if possible, we’d like to leave for Hamar right away.”
“Both a car and a driver are standing by,” Sergeant Major Ellingboe said. “You’ll be on your way in a few minutes.”
“Thank you. If I could ask for one more favor — could you inform the JSOC liaison officer at Fort Hardrada of our arrival at the ATC and subsequent departure for Hamar?”
“Certainly,” Bruhns replied. “I intended to report back in any case.”
They walked through what served as a reception building for personnel landing at the ATC’s airfield and emerged on the other side, where a dusty, slightly battered, and distinctly ancient aircar waited. Its driver, a wiry man in his seventies, with white hair and an equally white beard, climbed out.
“Meet Harold Nyland,” Ellingboe said. “Harold spent forty years in the Regiment and still does us the odd favor in his retirement, such as running sightseeing trips for visiting troops.”
Talyn inclined her head at the veteran. “A pleasure. I’m afraid my colleague and I can’t give you our names.”
“No problems, ma’am.” Nyland’s voice was surprisingly deep and strong. “Torsten mentioned you were traveling under orders. I’m ready to leave whenever you are.”
“Now would be good.”
Nyland reached in, and the doors on the passenger side opened silently to reveal a clean, comfortable interior capable of seating a dozen humans.
“Climb aboard. I assume those little knapsacks are your only luggage.”
“Correct.” Talyn turned to Bruhn and Ellingboe. “Once again, thank you for your help and your courtesy.”
“Our pleasure,” the major replied. “We Commonwealth warriors need to stick together. Enjoy your trip.”
The aircar lifted off smoothly, and Nyland pointed its nose due south.
“It’ll take about five hours to reach Hamar’s outskirts, ma’am. Where precisely would you like me to drop you off?”
She glanced at Montero who said, “How about the Christiana transit station?”
“No problems, sir. Good choice.”
They left the confines of the Arctic Training Center for the open tundra which was carpeted with hardy native vegetation that made up in color what it lacked in height.
“I imagine you’re Scandian bred and born, Ser Nyland?” Montero asked. “If you’ve served in the Scandia Regiment for four decades.”
“That I am, sir. And please, call me Harold. As the old joke goes, Ser Nyland was my father, God rest his soul.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your take on the current political situation?”
Nyland’s laugh was devoid of humor. “You mean the idiots fighting for who gets to screw the rest of us over? Bugger ‘em, if you’ll pardon my Anglic.”
“So you’re not a fan of either party?”
“Well.” Nyland scratched his beard. “If you forced me to pick sides, it sure as hell wouldn’t be the People’s Alliance. We saw what they’ve done to this planet. The other lot hasn’t messed things up. Yet. But they will. Everyone does. Politicians might be honest on their first day in parliament. But give the bastards a few years in power, and they’ll do anything to keep it, slimy tricks included. That’s why governments are like dirty diapers — you need to change them regularly otherwise you’ll choke on the stench. And phew, did the Alliance ever stink when they were turfed.”
“So you’re in favor of the legislation Prime Minister Dahlstein is putting before parliament next Friday?”
“If it helps make sure we can change the gang of thieves in charge every few years and keep offworld riffraff from coming here to suck us honest citizens dry? You bet, min herr.”
Montero glanced at Talyn.
“Do you figure the Alliance will let that pass?”
“They’d better not try anything nasty because a lot of people on this planet won’t sit still and let the Alliance fuck us over again. Not this time, min herr. Not this time.”
Then, as if embarrassed by his outburst in front of two strangers, even if they were from the Fleet, Nyland fell silent for the rest of the trip.
— TWENTY-ONE —
“There’s nothing like leading a patrol through the muck in unpowered armor to separate the kids from the grownups, is there?” Decker smiled as the memories of his own, long ago junior NCO course came flooding back. He stood with Gulliksen on a hill overlooking a swampy section of Fort Hardrada’s training area, happy to be out in the fresh air, enjoying the sight of basic soldiering for a change.
The regimental sergeant major had arranged for Decker to draw an issue of battledress and armor from the supply stores that morning. And with nothing better to do until Colonel Salminen came to a decision or the Police Authority improved its public relations policies, he’d accompanied Gulliksen while the latter resumed his inspection tour.
“You forget the freezer up north. It’ll make the candidates remember this phase of their training with fondness. I seem to recall a certain Pathfinder troop leader who couldn’t stop telling everyone the only use for ice was to chill drinks.”
“It was true then, and it’s still true now. The only thing that’s changed is the quality of my drinks.”
“What? You’ve found something worse tasting than that Shrehari swill?”
“If you insist on being an asshole, you dumb pongo, then the question should be you’ve found something worse tasting than that Shrehari swill, sir.”
Gulliksen gave him the rigid digit salute. “I see no rank insignia on your tin suit. Since you don’t want to go around looking like a major because of secret squirrel nonsense, you can shove your ‘sir’ where the sun don’t shine.”
“Does your mother know you talk to people like that?”
“Who do you think I learned it from? Folks who find me intimidating would melt if they met her. She’d make an awesome RSM.” Gulliksen tilted his helmeted head to one side. “Hang on. I’m getting a call. It could be Lars Calbach with news.”
“Nope,” the RSM said a few moments later. “That was the colonel’s office. It seems the guy investigating your daughter’s disappearance will speak with you after all. They expect you downtown at fifteen hundred hours.”
“Maybe common sense has finally made an appearance.”
“That would be the day. I’ll drive you back to the fort and see you’re given an unmarked staff car. We wouldn’t want anyone to find out you’re a JSOC live action role player.”
“And just because you’re doing that for me, I’ll overlook the insubordinate editorial comment this one time.”
“There’s plenty more where that came from.”
“No doubt.” Decker nodded toward the combat car waiting at the foot of the hillock, hidden from trainee eyes. “Shall we? I’d like to change and grab a bite before heading into Kollsvik.”
“Might as well, before the cops change their minds again.”
**
Decker parked his small, four-person Army skimmer in a visitor’s slot behind the Police Authority’s district headquarters building, a utilitarian gray cube with black windows, fronted by a stand of flagpoles. He pulled his blaster from its shoulder holster and dropped it into the vehicle’s lockbox.
Cop shops doors were usually surrounded by sensors, and the Shrehari blaster would trigger them. After a moment of hesitation, the dagger strapped to his forearm joined his gun. Then, Decker climbed out of the car and made sure it was locked with his own biometric signature.
He entered the building via the main door and approached a copper-topped counter beneath a sign reading ‘Reception.’ As he came near, the hologram of a life-sized androgynous human materialized behind it.
“May I help you?”
“My name is Zachary Decker. I’m here to speak with Inspector Harms.”
“Confirmed. Please wait for a member of staff.”
Zack paced the reception area instead of taking a seat, surprised at being the only human present until he remembered that street policing was carried out via local substations scattered around Kollsvik and the surrounding settlements. Citizens, other than those summoned here, wouldn’t visit the district HQ. His inner clock ticked over to fifteen hundred hours and as if on cue, a door whispered open. A short, stocky man in a severe suit, with a severe haircut, and a face hewn from granite, stepped through.
“Mister Decker? I’m Sergeant Wallings, from Inspector Harms’ team. If you’ll please follow me.”
“Certainly.”
Wallings led him along a quiet, tastefully decorated corridor with closed doors on either side, then down a stairwell that seemed to plunge deep into Scandia’s crust. They got off at the second landing, well beneath the street surface, where the floor and walls were bare, in stark contrast to those of the main level. The doors, except for one, were also closed, and the sounds muted. Wallings gestured at Zack to enter. The moment he walked over the threshold, Decker understood this was an interrogation room, not an inspector’s office.
“Sit.” Wallings pointed at the single chair on the far side of a metal table. He left, closing the door behind him.
Decker examined the room with practiced eyes, spotting the video and sensor pickups, and wondered why he was brought here. He didn’t wait long for an answer.
The door opened again, and Mariel Lazarre entered, alone. She wore a predatory expression and clothes that would not seem out of place in an interstellar corporation’s executive suite.
She stopped short of the table, beyond Zack’s reach, crossed her arms, and studied him through narrow feline eyes. “Zachary Decker. Or is it Harry Devine? Which is the real name, the true identity?” Her voice was a mocking purr.
“I’m here to meet Inspector Jakob Harms on a matter concerning a blood relative,” Decker replied in a calm tone. “Since you’re obviously not Inspector Harms, could you please tell me what this is in aid of?”
“As your drinking friends probably told you last night, I’m an officer of the Scandian Security Intelligence Agency. One of our responsibilities is to find individuals or groups inimical to Scandia and, in cooperation with the Police Authority, make sure they pose no danger to this world.”
“Good for you. But as the Police Authority probably mentioned, I’m a serving Commonwealth Marine Corps officer, and therefore beyond the jurisdiction of planetary security intelligence organizations. If the Scandian government has issues with me, it’s free to contact the flag officer responsible for this sector.”
“True, yet you’re within the jurisdiction of the Scandian Police Authority if they suspect you’ve committed a civilian crime. At least until the Armed Services extradite you for prosecution through military channels.”
“Asking about the investigation into my daughter’s disappearance is a crime?”
“No.” A hungry smile tugged up the corners of her lips. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. However, your presence here is problematic for several reasons.”
Decker cocked an eyebrow and gave her a sardonic grin. “I have that effect on a lot of worlds I visit. It’s a rare talent. What’s irking you Scandians in particular?”
“For one, I can’t find a record of you passing through a proper port of entry. In effect, you’re on Scandia illegally.”
The Marine shrugged. “A minor oversight stemming from legitimate military reasons. I’m sure it can be fixed without further ado since this probably happens often with Commonwealth Armed Services personnel traveling directly from orbit to a federal installation such as Fort Hardrada.” Or the Arctic Training Center, he thought, but why give Lazarre ideas.
“Yet you didn’t travel directly from orbit to Fort Hardrada, did you? I’m curious — why take Munin upriver while hiding your real identity?”
“Did I?”
“Come now, Mister Decker. You and I traded words in the transport’s saloon. You even remarked that you’d remember someone like me. Did you forget already? I’m crushed.”
